


Wounds And Trauma

by xLitheKitty33



Series: Post-War [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Cannon divergance, Depression, Eventual Romance, F/M, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Inability to forgive onself, Inability to obtain full closure, OOC due to trauma, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Platonic Relationships that almost/do cross the line, Possible substance abuse, Post-War, Redeeming Draco, Sleep Paralysis, Slow Burn, Smoking, Suicide Attempt, broken relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-02-22 13:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLitheKitty33/pseuds/xLitheKitty33
Summary: "Time heals all wounds," Hermione often found herself reciting, but it certainly did not seemed to be the case for her. How could everyone seem to heal so fast? How long has it been? Why was it the only person who understood, who was as fucked up as she was, had to be him?





	1. Time Heals All Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has been scribbling down notes in a couple pieces of parchment as she can't find any extra notebooks to write in. She vaguely details and thinks about the summer and prep week, before ultimately taking a large leap of faith two weeks after prep week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Fixed a couple of awkward wording at the end and near beginning, and chapter title.

Over time, the clutches of deep paranoia rooted itself in her. It seeded and sprouted deliriously as this hypothetical killer plant seeped into and dictated her every thought, waking hour, even her sleep, and now, it left her as empty as she acted. She truly was not okay, and the fact that anyone thought so appalled her, nonetheless she ventured forth into the dark abyss, numb and profoundly unafraid for lack of a better term.

“Time heals all wounds.” They thought that improvement was showing, in  _everyone_. Sadly, it was far from the truth for Hermione and in fact, it seemed to be getting worse by the second considering she was beginning to close her self off periodically to everyone around her. Even Crookshanks seemed to prefer to keep to himself rather than be with Hermione comfortingly, like usual.

She could see it in her dearest friends, for they had seemed to be fetching up nicely and were well on their way to proving that the year they had lost was genuinely recovered... _without her._

So much for being “The Brightest Witch of Her Age.” It didn't mean that she fell back on her grades, they were outstanding as per usual, but she was just more stressed than anything ever before with so much responsibility in her hands that she didn't have to choose to accept or do, but she did. It deteriorated her mentally and her health, she always was a workaholic with a thirst for a sense of doing something to keep from boredom droning on. Perhaps all she was is truly an inferior “mudblood” just like how it was carved into her arm, and it didn't help this wound was healing as though it would stay for an eternity. She knew and was assured one day it would fade to a point where it could almost be unnoticeable, but decided to wear longer sleeves to cover it up because that was not a time expected to come very soon, nor did many know of the carving it was between her, Bellatrix, Lucius, a dead woman, and Draco. Actually two of the five were on death sentences, so practically, three people who knew were dead, and she wanted to keep it that way.

She noticed that he wasn't there to make quips at her, and that was fine, she didn't want to see him anyways, it seemed as though even the sight of him triggered a heart wrenching breathless panic attack. He kind of just disappeared, other than when it was absolutely necessary and inevitable as they had to work together especially since they were at the top of their class, and it was as though he realized she never wanted to hear it from him and gave up.

It was a shame, she remarked to herself, but her unconscious, the irrational part of her brain knew otherwise because every time she saw him her heart would race and she could feel the stings on her scars as vividly as the day they were craved into her skin with the magic blades that ripped across her delicate skin, anywhere and everywhere it could reach, littering her with open scars and left her flush naked and dripping her “filthy” blood all over the premises; the aggressive beatings which harbored bruises on her body to this day and left her incredibly sore only to go through the repitetion again the next day; and if it was an unmerciful day, she would feel anguished, agony, and shame due to the disgusting touch and grunts with painful noises she would incorporate in unnerving and dirty assaults with someone close to him, and this man's taunting that she was truly filthy as a wretch laughed holding her in place while she took it upon herself to violate her too; all for some information which in the end she had not given. She was lucky to have escaped at all and they knew it.

She wouldn't be able to breathe as she stared into his eyes where there was the same horror, the same agony, and the same perish, _but he had his father's beautiful eyes._

The emotions in his eyes was  _almost_  perfectly identical to her's. If only she could speak to him without him swiftly aiding in reaction quietly as she fell to the floor, shell-shocked, crying, and gripping onto his arm with tightly squeezed eyes as she thought that if she closed her eyes it would go away. The images did leave but the sounds grew louder and louder to a painful screech. If only she didn't have that panic attack when she even caught sight of him, perhaps they would get some answers. His grey eyes in a stormy conflict as he gazed upon her, features apologetic, and yet she couldn't put her finger on it as she clutched her heart trying to keep herself from inducing another panic attack as she continued to write down her note for her last words.

Her thoughts continued to wander back, and she was left wondering if he ever knew how grateful she was, or that she never hated him for it, despite the somewhat selfish reason that she wanted to kind of hold it against him even when he had been staring her in the eyes with so much conviction in his guilt and pity that she wished she could turn her face away and tune him out. If only the circumstances were different, they may have been able to get along better and actually become friends.

She continued to immerse herself in studies, even more rigorously to the point where Ron had sent her owls instead of seeing her in person because she wouldn't answer the door to the head common room, nor did she think he would as he was trying to stay away from her as much as she could anyways, and she kept herself locked up for hours and hours on end.

Despite this, someone was watching her. Always watching her and she could never hide. Always on the guard whenever she was out there.

She acted strong, brave, and most of all confident. Perhaps the reason she could be all of those things was because she was stronger when she wasn't alone but with friends, the two that were the nearest and dear. Now, she just felt isolated especially since she buried herself in Head Girl duties, now living in new quarters, immense amounts of studies, and with not freaking out when she and Draco worked together.

She was certain they still cared but for a short burst of time, she and Ron had been together, and while it was not electrifying, nor passionate, she knew it was all she needed the kindness, gentleness, and loyalty. That was until he seemed to be a bit too oblivious to her obvious dwindling self-worth and effort, despite her lies of promising recovery, she was not getting better, she even got to the point where even if he touched she would flinch and then freeze for a second as if he were the ones who tortured her. 

She remembered the tears and pitifully painful comfort with Harry, the one who was always there for her and likewise. They were together and never separated until she turned to Ron as her comfort, hoping that “love” could make her feel better and change her back. She didn't know why she had ended it with Ron, she developed a habit of pushing people away before they got even closer to her newly heavily guarded heart. It all changed between them when he had kissed her so that she would stop blabbering the same things, she had sighed into it, but then pushed him away.

She stuttered, looking stupefied, and he grasped her hands looking her in the eyes, saying that she had been the one he had only ever loved like this and it pained him, but he did not expect anything of her. He knew after all this time she still was pained by the trauma of war and even the stuff she knows she's been hiding from them, but he desperately wished to help her, he knew he couldn't.

She let him try anyway which hurt both of them in the long run. After all, no one can fix you, they that must work on themselves first. She then realized that the love as a distraction and way to try and pick up the pieces does not make it better, in fact it can hold back the other person that she had been with and break them down even more. He always denied that she was not good for him whenever she had said it, but she knew she broke his heart every day as she got worse and worse. She broke it off as much as she didn't want to. Harry stayed by her anyways, just less intimately as he looked at her with deep regret. He didn't deserve the shell of the former golden girl and they both knew it, at least she thought he did. Perhaps one should be careful to think that you can fix the person who is broken, they must want to heal themselves before trying. 

She finally finished writing her thoughts on the last few months after the war. It was not even close to half-way through the year and she still felt the urge, it was even stronger now that she had already finished patrolling and all of her duties and plans. Checking to see if Draco was in bed she creaked his door open, and he was lying there with the most peaceful and unbothered features she had ever seen him in, he looked almost as though he'd be okay. Such a pity she'd never see it again. She left now knowing that no one could stop her now as she sneaked off through to the top floor at the roof. 

She didn't know why she was so profoundly determined in doing this, she could just use her magic to do this instead but decided against it once again. Hermione was intent on not leaving any trace of her magic behind, for some irrational reason, and so she climbed onto the ledge, that peered over the greenery and the creatures that wouldn't even realize they were about to see someone fall from heavenly graces above.

Hermione held her breath and took a step, for once in a long time in her life it seemed, she felt serene as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But wait there's more. 
> 
> Also I had an extra scene which I will be publishing soon, it's short and occurs after the last scene. I also usually write but longer but this story may just have chapters that vary in length, usually short, as I have ideas for to how I want to chop it up. 
> 
> Also I always check and check and check before I start writing because I am a mainic about posting work and have not written much fanfiction in forever! Also this will not have a constant update schedule as I am pretty busy (right now on break) but yeah! So if anyone is actually reading this story, I suppose I hope you enjoyed!


	2. Apologies Were Not To Be Said, But Shown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's point of view comes to light on when he first sees Hermione and when he saves her from her suicide attempt. There is insight on how Draco absolves his stress, and he finds himself worried that he's already become his father mainly due to the piling amounts of similarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Fixed an error from typing/autocorrect, spacing issues, misspellings, and a couple of wording issues.

The Malfoys were a proud pureblood family but even they knew when it was necessary to apologize. They just didn't actually say the word unless it was an absolutely dire situation. They even had a motto for it “Apologies were not to be said, but shown.”

Draco knew that he had never truly followed the motto properly, but he also knew there was a time and place to see her to apologize and living with her was not going to make it any easier. How could he expect her to forgive him when he himself couldn't even achieve self-respect anymore nor even stand to look himself in the mirror and face what he's done without going insane?

He could remember the first time he had seen her have a panic attack it was in the morning and not during the night they set up. They were told separately and by owl carrier that they were to be head boy and head girl mainly due to conflicted scheduling in both of their “busy” lives. Once the morning came he had figured that maybe if he made breakfast, instead of bringing her awkwardly to the cafeteria, he could hope to ease in how genuinely sorry he was smoothly. The war had done a number on him and nothing was going to fix that. Nobody truly had wanted to greet him kindly either but they would suck it up because he was head boy and because Headmistress McGonagall said she trusted he had genuinely changed.

She was cooped up in her room when he had arrived and unpacked the night before, he could tell that now she was in the shower getting ready for preparations of a routine that they were establishing a bit before classes would start next week. He noticed that as she stepped out she looked so different from what he remembered, but how could he have not seen it before? She looked older and less settled.

He then took note of the way that she quickly drew in a breath as soon as she saw him, her eyes widened, began to water, and she would drop to the floor, scratching at her robes harshly as if trying to brace herself for the inevitable, accidentally opening the scabbed wounds. It seemed she hadn't healed herself with magic but to allow them to heal manually and by themselves. She rocked back and forth on her bottom screaming at first what he could only make out as a couple of words and high-pitched “no's” begging for them to stay away, and then she cradled herself together even tighter, as if she were hiding, so quiet that if you hadn't watched wave after wave of tears fall while she gripped her hair, you wouldn't even have realized anyone was crying.

Quickly he came upon two options, either he would have to wait for Madam Pomfrey after alerting her because she was not on grounds at the moment and was out for special supplies for potions, or he could attend to her immediately. He opted for the latter and slowly made his way over to her. Her screams had died down but as soon as she saw him approaching her, she screamed again “Get away Lucius! It's not happening ever again!” She reached for her wand hysterically, thankful this time she had it and she pointed it at him, rising to a controlled stance.

Draco without a second thought, in an urge of his own paranoia, threw his wand across the room to her side so that she would calm down, and she did slightly. He took another step and she quickly tightened her stance again pointing at him.

“Stay away I mean it!”

“It's not Lucius, Granger. It's Draco.” He knew he should have gotten his haircut and groomed a bit because was his father's son in physical features, and this "sauve" unkempt look was very similar to his. He had tried to be like his father once, but he knew his heart could never be truly cut off, nor could he ever stand for the rugged ideas of the Dark Lord that was instilled in his father and now attempted to do with him. Yes, he believed in blood purity and all that but they had truly risen to an extreme on that account.

She seemed to noticeably relax, but he could tell by her eyes she was still in a state of panic reliving the memories, seeing him triggered memories that frustrated him because he knew he could only hear her screams when his father tormented her with Bellatrix in a private room after Bellatrix's carving and cutting sessions. He wasn't able to tune her out even more so after those sessions. He would pace the floor at those times telling himself it was for his dear mother. He almost couldn't approach her because he knew she was afraid of him or perhaps just angry with him for not doing anything and didn't want to spend time with him just like everyone else. She was a reasonable person but it only went so far and he knew he was already out of bounds.

Warily, he continued to slowly approach her and she glared at him, “Don't come near me!”

“Gra- _Hermione_ , let me help you, you're bleeding, it's getting on the floor and you're not in the right state of mind.” He stated calmly, hiding his emotions and panic. The tension was beginning to get to him and he hoped that he could end this before he began having a panic attack relieving the memories as he took deliberate breaths in and out. He hoped she knew he was being serious when he said her given name.

He then quickly thought to help heal her as she tripped over his wand due to the fact he moved it toward her in the beginning. Concluding that asking for his wand to point at her and heal her probably wasn't the best idea, and he did take into account that she may not even listen to the most of what he has to say. The head boy left as she calmed down from her bristles, and was crying once again with her knees brought to her chest, and he grabbed the emergency kit that he knew Hermione had always brought with her in some form or fashion. He tried to use his gentlest voice to coax her over, and with a friendlier face even though he had felt numb then.

“Hey, Hermione, come here, I am not going to hurt you, I promise, look I have some-” He scanned over all the labels, “wipes and band-aids to make you feel better. And I made breakfast.”

The way she was acting was almost animalistic as if reverted to her pure survival instincts, and he didn't know if he liked seeing the golden witch like this. It stung as she flinched and glared at him watching and clutching her wand in case he tried anything. Perhaps he was going soft, but that was just what happened for him when he remembered seeing his mother slaughtered by his father as a show of loyalty to Voldemort and of great psychopathy. It opened his eyes as he heard his mother screech in pain. That screech haunted him and he never wanted to hear someone screech that way again even if it was one of his former enemies.

He checked for where she was bleeding as he could feel it had soaked through on her stomach, arms, and thighs before helping to partially take off her robes as she wasn't doing it herself and in pain every time she had tried. He applied the alcohol rub, and then the bandages, remembering when Hermione had once treated him when he scraped and hurt his knee after quidditch tryouts after he fell off the broom, — no one was perfect their first time and it didn't help that someone had bumped into him — but he was lucky to not be so high up. It was when they were younger, and proclaiming that she was beneath him, lucky to have even touched his pure blood and bandage him.

She rolled her eyes and quipped, “I was only being nice to you because I thought you needed it, clearly I was wrong, but Madam Pomfrey isn't here right now, so you will have to deal with this 'muggle' method until she gets back and is ready to see patients.” She then walked away and he sneered but quickly looked away so he didn't look at her as he could almost see up — he was a decent boy even then to a degree.

“Thank you” She whispered her voice cracking, and it drew him out of his memory. They locked eyes for a second and he saw emptiness accompanied by painful emotions he recognized in himself, but he could feel the rising heat to his pale checks, and he urgently went off. His conclusion was that he not ready to look her in the eyes. 

This girl was nothing like that girl, she was so lifeless. It was as if she had given up, but he could tell they understood each other and he knew she did too. She still had panic attacks varying in degrees whenever she saw him and so he stopped trying to approach opting to allow her to choose to see him. It's not as though he had been giving up on her he told himself.

The only person he had truly given up on was himself. He was a death eater and was not able to kill, nor able to stomach, let alone comply to anything his father or Voldemort requested of him and this caused punishment in various forms: whips and back lashes, being forced by the imperius curse into enforcing and participating in cruel methods and watching helpless people being tortured, beatings, cigarette burns, and inevitably, to be caged a point where he had to watch without inferring with the death of his own mother.

* * *

The blonde wizard took the firewhisky and chugged a whole mouth full of it down his throat, drowning in how orgasmic it was to feel the burn as it hissed and sizzled down his constrained throat. Draco almost considered taking a cigarette right now and lighting it as his father had always done when he was stressed, the issue was that he was still inside and if their common room smelled of smoke it would be already atrocious as an idea, especially since it would be coupled with the smell of his firewhisky endeavors. Lucius wasn't the winner of the 'Best Father Of The Year' Award, but he had left something behind his son with impressions of coping methods. It was the most vulnerable he had seen his father ever, before he succumbed to insanity with the rise of the Dark Lord.

Musing, he recalled Lucius was a violent drunk and a person quick to lose his temper if he didn't take a cigar, or cigarette as his alternative, to calm his nerves. He didn't want to recall memories of his father's ire in his drunken state, nor the burns from the cigarettes. Draco suddenly pondered about how sometimes he realized he couldn't calm down until he smoked his cigarette or that he would drink till he's drunk, calmer but crying, and retching his guts out the next morning all for an enchanting moment of blissful sleep and a peace of mind without the gory memories closing in on his judgement and insight. His eyes widened at the thought after he had taken another swing at his firewhisky. He did not want to become his father, but it seemed as though he already was doing so. Worried and ashamed, he buried his face in his hands, and slowly stood to take a stride to her room before knocking on her door.

“What do you want Malfoy?” He could hear the uneasiness her voice presented and the sudden stop of the continuous scratching noise made when her quill jabbed at the parchment. He had her full attention.

Drunk and calculating whether it was a good idea or not, decided he did not dare to peak his head in as he spoke incase of another issue like earlier that day, “I am heading out for a walk, but I thought I would let you know before you freak out something.”

“Are you going to...” He could tell from behind the door she was treading carefully over what she would say. Even while drunk they both knew he was perceptive, “never mind, do whatever you want, just be careful you're not caught.”

While he was surprised he didn't get more of a verbal lashing, he didn't question it, after all, it would be preferred that they get along and that was evident after earlier. Draco knew immediately why she implored him to be careful, it was nearing their later curfew as Head Boy and Head Girl. He took the last swig of his firewhisky and tossed the bottle into the bin before heading out of the building for a smoke.

His fingers strummed nervously on his thigh, not only just because he hadn't had a smoke in over a month due to his low supply, but also because he was leaving her alone. Draco suspected she knew he was watching, not him specifically but someone was, and if he didn't watch her, how could he know she was safe or know how he could apologize. Once Draco was outside with the fresh breeze, he drew a large breath in through his nose, soothing his nerves and then lit a cigarette.

Bringing the cigarette to his mouth, he breathed the cigarette in, feeling a sudden calm haze overtake him and then he slowly blew the foggy grey smoke out. He continued his thoughts on planning to apologize. What he did was never enough, and he knew he could never be forgiven. Maybe if Hermione could forgive him, he would finally forgive himself for all the wrongs, and all the death and innocent blood he was forced to partake his once pure hands in, but he doubted it. No she wouldn't understand, after all, who she killed were by her own will and were Death Eaters, no one could blame her.

* * *

This night however he was extra agitated as he did not take his firewhisky, nor did he go for a smoke, something was telling him that he needed to just hop into bed. The walls were very thin and he could hear the scratching of parchment and quills embracing and filling out the paper. He couldn't take his mind off of the last time he'd read it.

 _To the best of friends, family, and enemies,_  
_I am truly and sincerely wishing you the best, but I am not faring the best in this world, or in any for that matter and I dutifully apologize profoundly as I cannot take it any longer. The 'urge' continues to rest within me, not even doormat any longer and it screams to my veins that I must._

It then went into detail over the summer and prep week with him, her regrets over the war and the torture she endured. He monitored as she wrote more and he was growing restless, unable to fathom if he was truly watching over her in worry. He could feel that he would have a panic attack if he didn't settle or quit his smoke cold turkey and slow easing off the the alcoholic beverages. He could not sleep, but closed his eyes waiting for the dreadful allure of a goddess to entrance him to slumber. His eyes shot open as he realized she had stopped writing and it was silent. Panic began to seep into his bones and dread filled all of his senses.

With the creak of his door, he quickly shut his eyes knowing she was there, and he almost began to hyperventilate. She then closed the door and hear her lithe movements as if it was an emergency to leave the common room. As soon as he couldn't hear her anymore, he felt urged to bring his lucky Nimbus 2001 along with him. He quickly makes his way into her room and takes the parchment in shaky hands and with a heavy heart. He looked for the last lines not bothering with the rest as he's already read most of it and somehow, he just knew, time was of the essence.

 _I will be gone by morning, I do wish things were different._  
_Best of wishes and sincerely,_  
_Hermione Granger_

He quickly ran after her then, using a tracking spell to find her. He tried to calm himself as he gently sprinted hoping there was not too much noise. His long legs aided in him finding her as she stepped off the ledge. He won't make it to her if he doesn't act immediately, it was a more dire situation than he could've imagined. Draco curses to himself, and fumbling to get on his Nimbus 2001, gliding through the air to reach Hermione who was falling at a fast rate. He knew and could feel that as soon as he was flying he felt much calmer.

She looked peaceful, unlike the past three weeks, years even, it almost stopped him in his tracks as a flush of adrenaline flew over him, but no, he couldn't let her kill herself and die. Not when he hadn't even gotten to know her properly this time, not when he hadn't gotten to speak with her over the tremendous hauntings of war pains in their wake still, not when he was finally trying to make amends, and certainly not when he finally recognized — he acted immediately, scraping the thought completely, he was dwelling on what could have been too much rather than what he has to do now.

He dived so he was underneath her and reached up quickly grabbing her by her waist tightly. He could feel his beauty losing control as he settled her to sit behind him. Finally, both hands on the handle as he cursed as he tried to steady it once again and slow down the rapid pace.

He could feel as she dug her nails into his pale skin while they began to slowly float and drift back to the ground. She had her eyes still shut tightly and he took in a deep breath.

“Don't ever try anything like that again.” He was furious, but he kept it in because that would only set his panic attack reeling even further as the fear and vulnerability was fueled into anger.

He could feel that she tensed, did she think it was someone else who had come to her rescue? He then realized that she may begin to have a panic attack and so he quickly drew on his arms over her waist and brought it back to the handle, to ensure that she didn't try to get away, they were quite a way up still as he slowed his navigation for her, mostly due to his adrenaline-fueled almost a full-blown panic attack, but mostly for her.

Her body was squished against his back now as she continued to hyperventilate, trembling in his arms, was it because they were still in the air or because it was him who saved her? He could tell despite this situation she had questions racing through her mind curious about how he knew and why did he do it. She did have a thirst for knowledge, it was the only thing they truly had in common that he could tolerate. He had sobered up as he grew even more annoyed until she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I saw you vigorously writing and took a peak in the parchment over the past three weeks as I had a hunch. I couldn't stop myself from rushing out here.” His voice was void of emotion unlike earlier when concern and anger was found earlier in his throat as he wanted to scream at her when he told her not to try that again. His throat tightened and he narrowed his eyes.

She had been frozen for a while as if she was processing and analyzing the situation. As he was about to warn her again she buried her face into the next place she could find on him, his chest, and he quickly stiffened. What was he supposed to do as he could tell she cried. Was it out of fear? Forgiveness he wistfully hoped? Or the immense grief of not getting over the war?

He finally steered to the ground and the awkward entanglement of their limbs and bodies made it hard for him to force himself out of her grasp as much as he wanted to — he opted to take a hand rub circles in her palm and over the top begrudgingly.

He could feel it as she finally looked up at him but he would not meet her eyes. He didn't think he'd ever be ready to meet those chocolaty orbs of her's again.

“Thank you,” she muttered as she buried her face back into his chest, perhaps because she didn't want him to see her face which was most likely. 

He could feel her tense up even more as they got off when he moved away from her, he was almost certain she definitely didn't want to see his face now, and he quickly pressed his thumb into her palm before taking her wrist to quickly get them back to their shared common room. He could feel the burn of another stare in his back as she stumbled behind him, he really wished he took a shot of a firewhisky, maybe even gin, he needed something stronger for it'll be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was harder to write for some reason, I had ideas for the next chapter immediately but not the buffer between them. I got it done though.  
> I think I will begin to back track after Chapter 3 to three weeks before this occurred.
> 
> Thoughts would be great! This isn't moving as slow as I had in mind so a back track would be a better way to bring it back.
> 
> The point of view kind of switches between them usually chapter by chapter but there may be a difference within the chapter. Tell me what are you thoughts? Suggestions are nice too.
> 
> Updates are not going to be this frequent after Chapter 3 I think. I have got ideas for the next few but not all of them are written.


	3. Better Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione goes through giving testimonies, all against most of the former Death Eaters, except one. She is there for his trial as well, and she does something that is almost unheard of for her. She procrastinates on visiting her parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Had to re-post chapter due to missing a large chunk that was re-added which was the trial portion.

Hermione Granger liked to be on time. It was a virtue and something she prided herself in very well, in all her 7 years at Hogwarts, she was never late for a class, nor late for an important date or an appointment of sorts. Everything had to be precise, that was just the way she liked it, and this rationale also allowed her to stay on a task for the year thankfully despite the growing complexities and hardships.

_Timing was important._

After the war, it became even more essential, she began giving her testimonies, but she feared the worst, what if it was too late to fix it? She testified against many death eaters that she had known, but there was one that she didn't necessarily testify against, he didn't deserve it no matter how much she hated him. She had also volunteered to be apart of the jury appraising him while at his trial, and on the day of this trial she felt as though she was glad to have volunteered she felt disgusted with the opposing side, they had left out crucial details that change the scene immediately and that is slander. There was a lot of hushed discussion between the people in his jury, but there were two separate groups due to the idiocy that the some of the adults arrogantly thought these children — Hermione and Harry were the only ones there, but Harry's was more out of requirement, — were just caught up in the war and had no place with this trial. As she counted up the different responses she had to eavesdrop from the adults for due to them smugly isolating Harry and Hermione, she knew who was to win. It was accounted for.

Hermione was the first to take a stand and that firmly locked Draco's gaze onto her. She confidently stood, looking at everyone in the room as she spoke with confidence, "The jury has given the verdict of innocence due to the obvious imperius curse placed upon him in multiple occasions. This does not include when he was coerced to take the Dark Mark from Voldemort, but he has shown that there was a premonition if he didn't take the mark and succumb to these atrocities that his family would be put at danger. Not only was this a firm belief with no outside help from the winning side, but he was a minor barely of age at the time of the war and still in school." Her heart hammered in her ribcage and she could feel herself almost freaking out due to the slightly heaving breaths she was taking but she continued to stand tall as the others joined her in their agreement despite some of the sullen spaces.

"Everyone is dismissed." With that, many scurried out of the room immediately, but Hermione stayed, standing up, looking over at Draco who was looking at her with an unreadable expression. It looked numb, and she certainly did feel numb.

She almost thought he would come up to her for some reason after all the trial today so she stood there staring at him, maybe because she always had some high expectations for him, perhaps because she knew how smart he really was. How could she think that though, but she knew it was a daft thought as she stared at him with guards still in the room. He just stood there, unsure, and vulnerable. Hermione decided she didn't like seeing him so defenseless and he definitely did not want her to see him as such either so she quickly packed her things, turned, and left. She could still feel his gaze on her.

What if something had gone wrong while she was waiting out time until she was free to visit them? Should she go now? Later? She had submitted a request for a portkey to Australia, where they lived now and it was to be processed in a week and shipped to her. Hermione would not admit it but she was scared of their reactions, her parents weren't the most predictable, especially since they always buried themselves in work and it didn't help that she was always off in her fantasies or reading a good informative book that her imagination continued to expand upon anyways. She stopped seeing therapists because it wasn't working, but they had told her she must work something out with her workaholic parents. Perhaps, as a joke, of course, the affinity that they had for work was a gene thing that was passed on to her. Either way, she was definitely procrastinating and only extending the inevitable situation uncomfortably, and that would continue to raise the stakes of them regaining their memories and hurt unceremoniously. Rising from her bed after the slew of questions in her mind she decided to get dressed and to see if Molly needed any help with breakfast, after all, it was still very early. 

* * *

Sometimes when she ventured down into the Burrow, she would scurry through like a curious rabbit in a new home, but today was not the day, the mood was downcast. She would try to stay strong after all, his death affected everyone greatly. She noticed George still hadn't been able to pull himself out of this funk, especially since he thought no one was watching. She left him alone so that he could continue to grieve in his own mind, he deserved that much with everyone continuing to try and corner around him and all. 

The Burrow was always bursting with life so it felt odd in the mornings where everyone was given their time to grieve before forcing themselves out of it for the day. For Hermione, she didn't take that time to grieve, she was too numb, she couldn't feel it at all but then it would creep up to her like all her nightmares, like  _he_  had, it was something she never would forget. Considering there was nothing happening at the current moment, she went back to bed, hopeful to get a better rest seeing as it was much earlier than her senses had initially predicted.

As she laid back down she drifted off to sleep, afraid as she always was. Hours seemed to drone on until she was falling in the dream and woke with a start.

Hermione forgot something important.

She couldn't remember, she kept wracking her brain for the said forgotten thought, but then she realized she couldn't move.

And she forgot to keep the lights on.

Her eyes were open as she sat in the dark. It was as though she could see Lucius' face, Bellatrix's face, both of her tormentors. It was a horrifying thought considering whatever happened to her when they were with her during the war. She couldn't actually make them out, but it was if they were there and she was panicking as she could feel them coming towards her. A constant light buzzing sound played in her ears as they drew their movements closer.

Hands on her hips, fingers trying to wiggle their way inside her clothes as she began to hyperventilate, unable to scream, unable to move, and she thought she was wiggling her pinky in an attempt to break free but it was possible that it may have not been moving at all. There was a heavy sinking feeling and she could feel him pressed into her, on top of her. If she weren't paralyzed, she would be howling in pain as she cried, struggling to keep her eyes open because if she closed them, it would only get worse. She wasn't stressed, she was fine these days, so why was she getting worse?

She could feel shivers down her spine as if there was a knife being traced on her back, and then it was almost as if something else was slipped inside her. She felt disgusting, reliving this almost every night, she hated it. There was no pleasure out of it, only pain. Excruciating pain. 

Hot warm tears continued to drip down her face and then she was suddenly in control. She was ok, she was fine. The whispering in her ear stopped, the buzzing died down, the sensations were gone as if they were never there in the first place. She sat up and rocked back and forth trying to steady herself. She bit her lip as the tears once again trailed down.

She shouldn't be crying, she was ok, she was fine, and she was strong.

* * *

Hermione had finally received the portkey to authorize her to go to Australia. She knocked on the door and quickly took in a breath to calm herself. It was nothing, she was going to see her parents, or specifically, Monica and Wendell Wilkins, as they were going by now. She thought back to that day, thinking about how not only had she wiped her parents' memories of her, but she had set them up with new identities. She had found that there was a way to reverse these effects, but it would only work within a certain time span and could affect their mental health substantially if not done properly. There was a risk to everything, and Hermione knew it now after all that had happened in the war especially. She didn't have a plan, for once she didn't, but then again it was Ron who came up with the plans wasn't it? He was the best at analyzing the situation and considering all risks, despite his hot head tendencies. Hermione just implemented and tweaked the plans, and kept the organization as an important factor. 

Perhaps she should've talked about this to Harry and Ron, but they both were grieving and she felt a bit awkward with their feelings coming towards them, perhaps she could just talk to her parents about the situation and show them and maybe they would believe her, or maybe she could lie about it. After all, when she had erased the traces of their memories and placed new ones in, she had many alterations of the previous ones. She could lie saying that she was the daughter that would be at boarding schools across the sea, and couldn't come home to visit, only sending letters. That she was "Eloise Wilkins" which they did think she was and was apologetic for eloping after all they have done, but that didn't sit right with her, even if she could easily pull off the lie. But there was a chance that they would never talk to her again, that they would be angry at her or even slip a bit into insanity in some form.

"Eloise? Is that you?" Hermione was immediately brought out of her thoughts.

"Hello, mum. It's been a while, hasn't it?" This was such a risk and she was almost ready to jump and back out but seeing the miserable look on her mother's face and the bit of cloudiness behind her eyes, she finally came to a conclusion. "We have to talk, it's an important matter."

Her mother broke out into a smile, a genuine one that always warmed her heart, "Wendell dear, someone is here to see us!"

"Give me a moment I am dealing with important business!"

The young brunette took in a deep breath to tell herself that she was fine and ready to move on. "Please, take a seat, we missed you so much."

She sat down on their couch looked at all the pictures around them and she smiled faintly to herself, she really hadn't seen them in forever. She could hear her father in other room, possibly doing business dealings with real estate, or with the rental houses. It seemed that despite not working their normal jobs, they were both still somehow working hard, it did help that they always had some large sum of money due to their inheritance and their previous career.

"Hello dad, mum, I have come to apologize for my behavior over the last year and that I have not seen you until now."

"You have some explaining to do Eloise." Her father said gruffly.

"I know, and I will start from the beginning. You are not Wendell Wilkins, you are not Monica Wilkins, and I am not Eloise Wilkins." She watched the expressions on their face grow confused. "I am Hermione Granger, you are Martin Granger and Helen Granger."

* * *

Hermione could say she expected their reactions as she lay in bed now, and sighed while immensely stirred in thought. She faded off into a dreamland filled with the scent of an old library mixed with something much more metallic. Her first instinct was to panic. The library was exquisitely grandiose and she couldn't bear not going through the books. There was a much too large amount of fine literature to keep away from her knowledge seeking instinctive hands. She could hear footsteps and glass. Soon there was tapping on the window she had not noticed before.

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

That wasn't just from her dream, it was real, it was happening. Hermione quickly sat up, completely awake and opened the window. She had taken the letter and smiled as she gave the owl some much deserved food as the poor dear definitely came from a long way.

_Dear Hermione Jane Granger,_

_This is not a formal letter, but it would be good to let you know that we have extended a hand to those involved in the war as an invitation to come back to Hogwarts for an "eighth" year. This will be a time where you will be provided with services that alleviate possible mental scarring due to the war with a well-approved muggle method. Not only that, but there will be a guided class on working your way around in the wizarding world as the war coming so soon has left many less prepared than if it had not been the case._

_Along with this extended hand, we would like to allow you to know that you have been considered as the top candidate for the 'Head Girl' position, we know your reputation will bring issue with the younger students who did not know anything of the war. Despite this, we will humbly ask you to consider this, also this year will also be special due to that in addition to the Head Girl and Head Boy, we will have a Head Girl and Head Boy Jr. selected from the hardest working of the current sixth years becoming seventh years as you the current candidates are repeats from last year. This will hopefully ease some of the stress should you and the other take on these responsibilities. Do notify as soon as you can whether or not you would be interested in the position as prep week is coming soon. Prep week is another new development due to the issues the school is in. The rebuilding is at work and almost completed but it would be helpful if everyone considering the positions of Perfects and the like are to attend. If you would like to settle in sooner, do send a note beforehand so that the tower common room can be reopened and set up properly._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Hermione didn't have to think twice, not that she didn't have to, but she didn't mull over the decision and quickly wrote back, accepting and requesting to come in possibly in a couple days. She was running again but this time, they didn't stop her. She had to let them cool down if, that is if they could. Perhaps someday they could forgive her, and someday they would remember everything. For now, she highly doubted this being the possible case.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this chapter was supposed to be based on their sleep, but I changed my mind. The next chapter was written at the same time as this one, so expect that one soon, but my break will be ending soon so I may not get that one up before them.


	4. Strengthened Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes through his tedtimonies and trials, surprisingly ending up innocent.He realizes he may not be ready to enter the wizarding world as an adult yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: This was accidentally posted on the 9th, so I tried to finish it as soon as I could re-post it and fixed some spelling errors, awkward words, and repeats of the same word.

Draco wasn't one for the tense air in the courtroom as a witness to each of the testimonies, and today was the last day. He had not expected as many people stand behind him for the horrors he's committed selfishly nor for the ones while under the imperius curse as to not arouse as much suspicion. He sat there acting as though he was not unhinged or nervous at all, while he really preferred he did not end up on a death sentence like his father in Azkaban, he didn't want to be sent there for any possible extended amount of time. The assessment of his memories had already been covered but the testimonies were for determining whether he needed a harsher probation or just to see the damage he caused, even if not by conscious action.

The testimonies were the only thing that could either do it or break it for him. He sat through every one, but his head perked up at the last one. Each second tortured him as he was uncomfortable, being the center of such, negative attention. Each of the people who testified were waiting on the other side but they watched him like hawks just as much as any of the guards did.

Finally, it was time for the last testimony. This one made him feel even worse than all the rest. It was her, the bane of his existence, living to torture him even in his nightmares let alone everywhere he went. He could smell her blood, in the air every once in a while no matter how far she was. She was always invading his thoughts as he panicked, drawing in uneven heavy breaths, cursing hoping that no one would notice. He wished he did something because something was better than the nothing he gave, for her, but this was an uneasy thing to do.

He could tell what the look in her eyes entailed, and as he looked around the room it seemed no one really noticed she was on the verge of having a soul-shattering panic attack but he did, he knew that look so well because it reflected in his own. She had taken the veritaserum but only spoke of what mattered and not her fear, "Draco Malfoy was a death eater who definitely committed his share of crimes," her voice was so steady it almost convinced him nothing was wrong. Almost.

"Despite this, he has committed acts that only one that had good intentions could commit. He bravely refused by lying to Bellatrix of Harry's identity even though there was a bitter rivalry going on between us for the duration of our 6 years at Hogwarts. There was no way that he could have been truly been unable to identify us." Her voice seemed to challenge those who thought otherwise with determination.

"Not only that but there was an attempt to stop one of his old friends Vincent Crabbe from cursing Harry Potter and me, though it is uncertain if his intentions towards that were truly for the sole fact 'Voldemort wanted Harry alive' or because of similar reasons to the later incident I described beforehand, but this fact saved us time."

She was to be dismissed and so she left, he wished that was the last time he saw her in person.

* * *

If he thought the air was tense during the testimonies were tense, he would be completely floored. The tension here was enough to break down a whole community, one of both a muggle and wizarding community together, and not only that but no one would be able to pick up the remaining pieces with the extreme severity of the situation. In this moment, he almost wanted to die because this was just unbearable, but that was the cowardly way out and it would be the last of the main Malfoy lineage. He was certain he may be condemned in that way somehow, even in death.

He watched as the jury listened to the testimonies provided and the arguments presented by his lawyer. He looked to the jury and many had a reason to hold a grudge, including rejected marriage proposals, mistakes stemming from his father, but Hermione was there again. She seemed like she would be the one to hold a grudge the most, especially since he only identified her even if it wasn't a sure answer. It was despicable and he couldn't say that he didn't hate himself for it, much like he hated himself for other reasons. Why was he even thinking about this now? He had a trial to focus on and now it was the other side's turn.

He was called into question, and while the usage was unrequired, it was highly recommended and encouraged to drink the veritaserum so that no one could doubt his word.

"Is it true that you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, hold these memories as every bit in truth?" This man was smug as he pointed to the memory projected by some muggle device, it looked like it worked similar to those moving pictures flashers? It was a very different device than ones in the wizarding world.

Draco wasn't too happy about the scene they decided to demonstrate. It was a time he would like to forget and wished he hadn't been involved in at all. The way that they collected the blood was gruesome and he was thankful he had no idea as to what this collection of blood was even being used for, but it was inhumane. It didn't help that it left out many details that would make the scene less charging. It didn't change that this torture and the events, but it felt as though it wasn't being displayed in a light that fit.

Draco immediately paled, and he shakily began to speak, "I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, have committed crimes similar and the exact one detailed bu-"

"So you prove that you are undeniably guilty!"

Incessant chatter blared all over the room at the horrifying scene and quickly the judge's voice boomed across the room. "I believe he did not finish his statement."

Draco then looked up with a smirk and leaned back, but it was obvious the smirk was a fake and his face was etched with worry. "The memory does not display the full scenario if you could rewind the scene."

This was such a personal one too, out of all the memories, why did they specifically chose this one? Purebloods weren't supposed to show weakness or reluctance to things that they would be devoted to, no they must be strong and stand up for it. At least that's how the Malfoys did it.

_The rain fell and suddenly the surroundings were dizzily swirling about along with a trail of blood dripping on the floor. Was that his blood? He had his eyes closed and he was much too dizzy to even be able to recognize what was happening now in response from his earlier action._

_"He's only just a boy! Allow me or his father to do it instead! I assure you, he cannot!" He was enveloped in warm arms and a steady heartbeat he has known since his birth played rhythmically in his ears._

_Suddenly the warmth was gone. He opened his eyes and looked around only to find his mother being pulled by the hair and dragged into a wall._

_"You do not tell me what to do! Only the Dark Lord has the privilege. You and your husband are a disgrace! Would you like your son to be one too? Because no redemption is given here, bitch. Either he does this or it is the for all of you." He then proceeded to spit at her and anger uprooted him as he zoomed his way towards the man._

_"You get any closer," He pulled his mother's head up to expose her bare neck, "And she gets killed." He held a blunt knife to her neck lightly, "All you need to do is collect the blood. We've already paralyzed him. Remember, he has to feel the pain or his blood isn't good enough and won't fit the criteria."_

_He was being held back by another man who was in the shadows. He didn't move._

_"Are you going to stand there and do nothing?"_

_He quickly could feel himself bending to the will of someone and saw the man that had been holding him back was now staring at him and silently commanding him to move. He tried to resist every step forward and was shaking, but then was flung to that side as the man holding his mother pressed the blade into her skin, any harder and she'd start bleeding so Draco immediately got to work and cast the cruciatus curse. The man's mouth began foaming and he was in tremendous pain, screaming shrilly._

_He quickly bent down with a blade and slashed across a major artery. The blood flowed out, spurting all over, and getting a bit on him, and his hand almost flinched, but it remained almost completely still and got the vial out of his pocket quickly. Holding it towards the slashed wound._

_"There's still more to collect."_

_Draco then continued to slash at him, collecting more blood in a few more vials as the man soon looked like he was reduced to a pulp of slashes and blood pumped out of his dying form. He kept his eyes off the bloodstained pavement and stood up disgustedly. He packed up the vials and put them away as the man who had cast the imperius curse to get him closer and cast the first slash took the killing blow on the poor man with a crack of his so no more screams were to be heard, just groans in agony._

_"Good work, he will be pleased. Perhaps not too pleased due to the circumstances of which you were to get it not being satisfactory, but nonetheless, you did it, little man." The knife was then pressed even harder against his mother's neck, nicking her delicate pale skin very lightly. "Will we be having another problem today? Because there is still more to collect."_

_Draco looked at his mother who was bleeding onto the knife again, and he could see the small bubbling bloody pearls forming at the edge of the knife as he grew angry, and shivered, closing his eyes._

_"No more problems sir, just remember our deal."_

Everyone seemed to gasp even more in horror than before, or perhaps this time it was pity. He didn't need to be pitied, he made his choices and did what he thought was best. If that landed him in Azkaban he would have to suck it up. Draco was not going to try and wheedle his way out of it like his Father had done during the war, if he was thought to be guilty, then so be it and once he got out of Azkaban, he would then begin his project to reform the family anew and reconnect with burned bridges and other minor and extended branches of the family.

* * *

He was shocked, as many other seemed to be too that she was the one to stand first or speak and give the opinion away, "The jury has given the verdict of innocence due to the obvious imperius curse placed upon him in multiple occasions. This does not include when he was coerced to take the Dark Mark from Voldemort, but he has shown that there was a premonition if he didn't take the mark and succumb to these atrocities that his family would be put at danger. Not only was this a firm belief with no outside help from the winning side, but he was a minor barely of age at the time of the war and still in school." 

Perhaps shocked wasn't the right word, but for now, it fit, he tried to keep his mouth from hanging open and swallowed nervously, feeling her hidden anxiety reaching him in waves and magnitudes that were blatantly and painfully obvious, at least to someone with an eye as keen as his that is. He ignored it, opting to stare straight ahead.

"Everyone is dismissed." Quickly all those in the room dispersed, Harry disappeared from his line of sight, which he would have breathed a sigh of relief if he didn't feel the prickles of scrutinized eyes boring into his back, almost stabbing him in the impact. He swiveled around to face the perpetrator and realized who it was, if he didn't have an image to maintain, he would have shuddered under her gaze.

She stood her ground, blankly staring at him and he almost went over to her, to beg, for forgiveness and ask to allow him to also thank her, but he was a bit too proud for that, and his every move was being watched. If he wanted to this would be the time it would be perfect so — Hermione realized that he wasn't going to move anytime soon and he watched as she tilted her head up and sharply, but shakily, turned as if they hadn't had that moment as if he had disappointed her. _How could she expect something from him? Who did she think she was?_ He could feel himself visibly shaking from the thought as he frantically gathered his things finally after there was a long discussion about what they were to do and they spoke to him. His heavy breaths and soul-shattering desire to revel in the new experience not so much after her but it was fueled by the adrenaline of freedom.

He could taste it on his tongue, it tasted bittersweet, but smelled divine, like vanilla mixed with a hint of honey. It was ironic how the smell of freedom to him was a similar smell someone that broke his calm impeccably every time.

_He was free._

If he could, he would treat himself to a new broom and take the new beauty for a ride despite putting the utmost trust in his older broom, the Nimbus 2001. He thought about it as he walked out, and considering the factors that there were no immediate relatives to take him in, that he was to be of age very soon, he was able to register and reopen family vaults at Gringotts and live on his own. He couldn't open his own vault at Gringotts yet, but in a week, yes he very well could. He determined a goal where had to clear their name. Their family name had been tarnished at the hands of their activities and side on the recent war. He was determined, no one would think ill of them for a decision his father made, no he would be very different and set aside the stereotypes, culture, and beliefs ingrained in him and instilled ever since he was a young boy.

He was  _not_  his father.

The only issue was this time he hadn't had a plan at all, nor a clue as to how to begin, nor did he even feel ready for the wizarding world and he became frantic with his movements. He realized he would have to live in the manor for at least a week while he saved up his galleons to put them to use for a new home. The Malfoy Manor felt like a vile place that haunted him with all the gruesome sights he had seen behind its beautifully dark architectured doors. He could feel the bile rise in his throat and he thought, if he was going to stay in here he definitely was going to redecorate. He could not stand the odor that lingered in this manor, nor the incessant and constant reminder of all the horrors that lingered in the corridors.

At least the outside of the manor had been cleaned, but he also knew that he was alone in this Manor and somehow that scared him even more than when Voldemort decided to take residence here. For the majority of the day, he spent it wandering aimlessly around the manor and rereading books from his library since he would not see anything else to do. For his birthday he went out and treated himself after reopening the family vault, and his own private one. The food didn't sit well with him and the stares that glared into his back were much too intense for him to even bother staying out. He barely even took a step inside to sit down before he heard tapping at the window.

_Dear Draco Lucius Malfoy,_

_In this informal letter, we are extending an invitation to those involved in the war as an invitation to come back to Hogwarts for an "eighth" year. During this time, you will be provided with services that alleviate possible mental scarring due to the war with a well-approved muggle method. Not only that, but there will be a guided class on working your way around in the wizarding world as the war coming so soon has left many less prepared than if it had not been the case. This is all in addition to your normal classes which will be on a modified schedule._

_Along with this extended hand, we would like to allow you to know that you have been considered as the top candidate for the 'Head Boy' position, we know that your reputation as a death eater will cause conflict, but we are willing to take the risk and no one deserves this position as you, and we truly believe that you have changed. We know of the things you have done and we accept that it is in the past especially as you have also proven yourself during your trial and at the end of the war. This year will be special due to the addition of a Head Girl and Boy Jr. selected from the hardest working of current sixth years to seventh years as you the current candidates are repeats from last year. This will hopefully ease some of the stress should you and the other take on these responsibilities. Do notify as soon as you can whether or not you would be interested in the position as prep week is coming soon. Prep week is another new development due to the issues the school is in. The rebuilding is at work and almost completed but it would be helpful if everyone considering the positions of Perfects and the like are to attend. If you would like to settle in sooner, do send a note beforehand so that the tower common room can be reopened and set up properly._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Draco took a couple minutes to stare at the parchment in his hand, turning it over as if he read it again the words would change and it was his imagination. It wasn't, was it? He really couldn't find himself staying here much longer and went to writing, right after he took a rest. He wanted to get out of this manor as soon as possible and left the house elves in charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is almost complete but it will take some time before it is posted.


End file.
